


With our veins running fire

by Luce_cm



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:21:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29843505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luce_cm/pseuds/Luce_cm
Summary: How Ivar’s first time could have gone. A rewrite of his scene in 4x11.
Relationships: Ivar (Vikings)/Reader
Kudos: 31





	With our veins running fire

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Charlotte Brontë quote: “…soothe him; save him; love him; tell him you love him and will be his. (…) I am insane—quite insane: with my veins running fire, and my heart beating faster than I can count its throbs.”

The blond Prince nudges your foot with his, demands your attention as Hvitserk walks around the room somewhere behind you.

Sigurd lowers his voice, and tells you, “You can still back down. Say the word and-…”

“Thank you, but no,” You interrupt, lifting your eyes to his, “You can stop offering that now.”

“I’m just-…”

“I know what you’re doing.” You interrupt again. You know there’s kindness in his gesture, when it comes to you there’s kindness in all Sigurd does.

Doesn’t mean he can’t be cruel.

“She made her choice, brother.” Hvitserk states, standing tall across from Sigurd and leaning his shoulder on a wooden pillar. His eyes remain on his younger brother for a few moments before turning to you and offering you a smile.

You narrow your eyes, slightly unsettled with how the two just…linger here.

“Surely you aren’t planning on staying.”

Hvitserk offers you a lift of his eyebrows, and a playful smile.

“Why, are you offering?”

You throw a pillow at him, but there’s no anger behind it. You know he does it to make you laugh and he manages to ease your nerves a bit.

Because…this is a strange situation, there’s no way around it. Your family and theirs have always been close to one another, with your father being a earl under Queen Aslaug’s jurisdiction, and it is true you’ve always been interested in the youngest Ragnarsson. A couple of weeks ago, sitting with Ivar outside while the feast raged on in the main hall, you dared close the distance and kiss him.

Still, none of that made being visited by Ubbe and asked if you’d want to have sex with Ivar any more normal, or expected.

_“I want to talk to you. About Ivar,” Ubbe states, eyes piercing but warm as they gaze into yours. He sits in front of you, elbows on his knees, and even reaches with one hand to put a hand on your knee, a smile on his face, “I know you care for him, I know you like each other.”_

_You stay silent, because there really isn’t anything you can say, and this doesn’t really sound like him questioning about it._

_He offers a smile. It is polite, but strange._

Past the extremely strange interaction you had with the eldest Prince, or the incredibly odd situation you were asked to be a part of, you didn’t think much of it, until earlier today, when you were approached asking if you were free tonight.

Though you did question at first why it wasn’t Ivar the one who approached you with these questions -would have certainly helped make everything much more normal if he had been the one to ask you-, you know him well enough to know why it was Ubbe the one to ask.

The door to the cabin you are in is kicked open, and Ubbe walks in with Ivar thrown over his shoulder. It is foolish, but you feel a ball of nervousness tighten in your core.

You have been with a man before, it is no secret for you what awaits you know. A few months before your father first brought you to Kattegat, almost more than a year ago, the son of a family friend and you fooled around and stumbled into having sex with each other.

But it is completely different now, even if you tell yourself what you ought to expect is the same. Ivar is different, and how you feel about Ivar is different.

His brother drops him on the edge of the bed, Ubbe has that odd smile on his face as he remains bended at the waist, his hands on his knees and his eyes on his brother.

He relays some silent message to Ivar before he straightens with an exhale. Why Ubbe looks as nervous as you feel is beyond you, but he still smiles at you and nods his head, before signaling with his head for his brothers to leave, and doing the same.

And you are left alone with Ivar, who still sits on the edge of the bed and refuses to even look in your direction.

Knowing it is up to you to take the first step, you walk to stand before him, resisting the urge to fidget with your fingers.

Ivar spares you a glance but almost-wide and somewhat unmoored pale blue eyes fall from yours after but a breath, and he leaves you with no choice but to crouch on the ground before him, trying to find his gaze but not succeeding.

So, with a hand on the side of his face, a hand that you surprise yourself at seeing not shake as much as you thought it would, you gather your courage and lean up to press your lips to his.

It isn’t too unlike the first kiss you shared with Ivar. He remains unnaturally still as you cup the side of his face and guide his face to yours, he lets out the faintest of sounds when you press your lips against his, and he seems to want to chase after the faint touch when you pull back but is stopped by the way he holds his body so tightly under his control.

Your free hand lets you find purchase on the bed, and Ivar jumps a bit when the place your hand rests is right beside his thigh.

There’s something to the way he holds himself, still yet jittery, uncomfortable yet longing, scared yet wanting.

Which is why you kiss him again, not giving him time to think or speak. If he starts thinking, you know his thoughts will chase themselves in circles and one way or another he will end up angered or biting, and that is not what you want. The side of him they all know, the side of biting wit and wrath and dangerous edges; that is not what you want.

You want the side of him you and a few others are fortunate enough to have stumbled upon, the side of small smiles that seem to surprise even him and vulnerability and hesitant softness.

You want the side of him that you saw bare of any lies the night you kissed him, when he watched you with wide eyes and parted lips, asking questions you didn’t want to answer yet.

So you press softly against his mouth, willing him with gentle touches of your hand and careful movements of your lips to relax and let go of any thought that isn’t _this._

But, of course, how could you hope Ivar would let anything be easy.

He pulls back, turning his face slightly down, you do not know if either to hide his expression from you or to give you a silent command not to kiss him again.

“Y-You saw Ubbe bring me here, didn’t you?” He asks, startling you. Ivar scoffs, but it sounds tremulous, “I bet it was quite a sight, him carrying his crippled brother for you to have sex with.”

His older brother meant well, even if he was a bit overbearing. You have a feeling Ubbe would have carried _you_ here if you hadn’t arrived earlier.

You search his eyes, your hand on the side of his face trailing slightly downwards, resting at the side of his neck. Though you think of something to say, Ivar doesn’t give you a chance to, because he just…keeps talking.

“Maybe this was all for nothing, and the Gods really made me boneless. Thought about that when you said yes?”

You pull back, crouched on the floor in front of him, looking up at Ivar’s uncertain blue eyes that seem to want to look everywhere except in your direction.

“What is going on, Ivar?” You ask. It is the easiest way you can voice the turmoil of questions inside you. _Do you not want this? Do you not want_ me _?_

“You said yes.” He states, but you know it is a question.

“I did,” You tell him, offering a soft smile, “It is no secret how I feel about you.”

His eyes fall from yours, and he offers a small hum, but it dawns on you like a weight in your stomach that he thinks you to be lying. Or worse, mocking him.

“I know how you feel.” He tells you, but he still doesn’t meet your eyes.

“I thought you knew I liked you,” You say quietly, leaning closer. He seems to tense up even more at your proximity. _If he didn’t know…_ You continue, “Ivar…we’ve kissed before.”

There’s a twitch of anger in his expression, a tell of gritted teeth. The anger is familiar, but it speaks of no less fragility than his hesitance.

“Sigurd told me.” Ivar bites out, voice low, words almost a growl.

“Told you what?”

Now, he meets your eyes. A storm of rage and pain and so many more things.

Accusing eyes and cutting words leave his lips like a curse, “That he dared you to do it.”

“What?” You frown, your heart feeling cold on your chest, “That isn’t true!”

When his eyes search yours, you dare think for a moment he believes you, you dare hope he sees you for who you are and not who his insecurities make out of you.

But he holds on to the anger, to the resentment, to the bitterness and the vitriol. ‘ _It is easier to be angry’_ he told you once, and you think the meaning behind the words becomes a tad clearer for you just now.

Ivar presses,

“You agreed to…to this,” There’s a faint tremble in his mouth that speaks of jagged edges and embarrassment. “Why? To say after that you had sex with the cripple out of pity? Just like you kissed me as a joke?”

To all his chaos what you can offer is certainty, and so you do, and so you remain unwavering, straightening your back and meeting his gaze, “I did not kiss you as a joke. No one ‘dared’ me to do it. You know me better than to believe that.

His eyes threaten to fall from yours, and at your truth you see the resolve his anger gave him crumble, and there’s a battle between holding on to the anger and surrendering to the vulnerability.

“And I did not agree because of pity. There’s nothing to pity about you, Ivar,” Your voice is certain even as your heart beats wildly in your chest, and after a breath of hesitation you confess, “I agreed because I want you, I have wanted you…ever since I met you. I thought…I thought you asked this of me because you wanted me too.”

And over the conflict and angry hesitance that were clear I his expression wins something softer, something awed and hopeful and vulnerable. His eyes soften as he looks down at you now, and his lips are slightly parted as Ivar takes in your words.

Still, silence reigns between you, for a few breaths but long enough that you feel exposed and uncomfortable, with your words, your confession, hanging in the air between you.

You offer what you hope is a smile and not a grimace, and your eyes fall from his, partially afraid of rejection and partially humiliated.

Ivar seems to realize you were waiting for him to speak, because he sucks in a sharp breath and stutters out,

“I did, I-…” He stops himself, but the words are still as rushed when he speaks again, “I-I did, I…do, um, want you.”

At his words relief mixes with the foolish hope and joy that make your heart flutter, and you smile around a sigh.

“Can I kiss you, then?”

Ivar’s eyes jump to your lips, and he swallows thickly before nodding his head.

“Y-Yes. I, um, I liked that.”

You close the distance between you slowly this time, lingering when your lips are but a hair’s breadth away from one another so you can admire the way his eyes flutter shut as he awaits the touch of your mouth on his.

You kiss him for long enough your nervousness dissipates, is lost in the shaky breaths you draw out of him, is drowned by the soft little sounds he lets out when you deepen each kiss.

But Ivar pulls back. Again.

“I don’t…I don’t really know what to do.” He confesses, not at all what you were expecting.

It’s not that you were expecting him to know what to do, or have any experience; it’s that you weren’t expecting for him to admit it, for him to be pulling back to offer unguarded truths instead of accusations or something else.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

He grits his teeth, petulant, “I told you already, I want _you_ ,” He tells you, and even if the tone is biting it still sends a thrill through you. Ivar’s nose furrows a bit in anger, “Why would I ask you here if I didn’t want to, hm?”

You bite back a retort about how he could ask you here just to spend time with him, he has before, but you know this isn’t the time to try your hand at irking him.

So you kiss him, and between murmured words you move further back on the bed. And in between kisses Ivar murmurs the words that steal your breath,

“I want to see you.”

There’s a war between thrill and fear within you, a war that makes you demand the same if you are to offer yourself.

“And I you.” You tell him, the deal you ask for in exchange unsaid but understood. Ivar nods his head, eyes roaming over your face before venturing lower, tracing with his eyes a path over your clothed figure.

A deep breath, and you stand up, undoing the loose laces of your dress and letting it fall on the ground.

He doesn’t say a thing, but the way he looks at you, the slightly parted lips, the big blue eyes taking in your form in the low glimmer of the candlelight, it makes you feel beautiful, strong. _Powerful_.

You take another deep breath, and move closer to the bed.

“Your turn.”

Ivar forces his eyes to leave you and faces ahead again, a choked little hum leaving his lips as he accepts your words.

He takes off his shirt first, and the sight of the muscles of his arms and back moving as he lifts the shirt over his head makes your mouth run dry.

You know you are probably staring at him like a ravenous woman, and…you are. _Gods_.

He hesitates only for a moment before tugging down his pants, leaving himself completely bare to you. Almost, since he hasn’t fully taken off his pants, but there’s time for that, you tell yourself.

You let your eyes trail over the whole of him, before returning to his face, and meeting his wide eyes that now hold a silver of uncertainty you thought you’d banished.

Instead of saying anything, you return to your previous place on the bed, straddling him and claiming his mouth, your hands eager as they trace over his heated skin, as they find purchase on his chest and become witnesses to your effect on him as you feel his chest rise and fall in uneven breaths.

It doesn’t fail to make your heart skip a beat in your chest, the way you feel him gradually relaxing under your kisses and your caresses. The way his shoulders drop, his muscles loosen the tension they held, his hands don’t shake quite as much and start exploring your curves.

You lose track of time in all the breaths you share, and in all the sounds you are able to draw out of him, and in all the different ways he says your name.

The electrifying press of his half-hard cock against you is enough to draw a few shaky breaths from you, to make the daze of lust that envelops you take you under.

And hungry lips trail down his chest just as your hand reaches down. When your fingers wrap around him, you lose your breath at the moan you draw out of him, the mindless and unashamed sound you earn for yourself before he bites his lip and grits his teeth.

Your core tightens at the thought of what delightful sounds of pleasure you can draw out of him when you take him in your mouth, and so you continue exploring, and your hand keeps moving over him, feeling him harden more and more under your touch.

When you reach far down enough, Ivar stops you with a call of your name, and a hand on your hair. You look up, but don’t move.

“I want…I want to be inside you.” Ivar tells you, resolute even if his voice wavers and his chest trembles with yet another shaky sigh when he looks down at you, so close to his cock.

A stubborn part of you wants to insist that you want to pleasure him with your mouth, eager and starved for the moans and whimpers you may earn, for how you could make him quiver and surrender.

But you silently comply, moving back up his body and searching his gaze carefully, half hoping and half dreading he sees in your eyes everything you are too afraid to say out loud.

And you keep your eyes on him, you keep him trapped in the spell of your gaze, as you lean a bit back and ready to take him inside you.

Because he might be able to see all you cannot say in your eyes as they gaze into his, but you are also able to see all he doesn’t say. And you don’t want to miss a thing.

Your nails claw slightly at the skin of his shoulder as you take him inside you, and if having him watch you as you bared your body to him made you feel powerful, there isn’t a word the Gods have granted you to convey what it feels like to have Ivar underneath you, gasping your name in a choked moan as you move over him.

There isn’t a word for the thrill and the _need_ that courses through you at the sight of him, there aren’t words for what each sound you draw out of his perfect lips does to you, there aren’t words for how each twitch in his expression and each quiver of his body reduces you to something that only wants to admire him and claim him _yours_.

He doesn’t last, and you certainly didn’t expect him to. Regardless, you lose a bit of yourself -a bit if your heart, maybe- as you watch Ivar’s face contort in pleasure. Head titled back, eyes screwed shut, and almost-painful ecstasy written in his expression.

Your breaths are still as heavy as his as you watch him fascinated as he comes down from his high.

His eyes remained closed for a while, but he doesn’t let go of you, hands firm -even if gentler than they were before- on your hips. You settle against him, unable to keep yourself from pressing a few kisses against heated and sweaty skin and whispering your praise in between those kisses.

Ivar sighs your name, and a shiver runs down your spine.

“That was…” He loses his breath again, as if breathless just from the aftershock of it, from the memory of it, and your smile widens.

Ivar’s hand on the back of your neck brings you closer to him, and he kisses you breathlessly, half a man starved and half a man that lost all his strength.

And you kiss him back, hoping he has found in this something he is as insatiable for as you have discovered you are.

When you pull back, and darkened blue eyes search yours, lips parted and breaths heavy, you find your answer.

You were asked to remain in that cabin for a night, you end up not leaving for almost two days. You were asked to be at Ivar’s side for one night, and you willingly give him all of your nights and days.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, hope you enjoyed! Ik this isn’t my best work, but holy hell I am so unimaginative when it comes to smut, sorry! Love ya!!
> 
> Btw, I don’t think Ivar would be so comfortable being completely bare on his first time with someone, but I debated with myself whether that particular insecurity is deepened by the events of 4x11 or if it was there from before, because he does go fully nude in canon, so idk. Anyhow, I wanted to keep this somehow related to canon since the person who requested asked for a rewrite of sorts, so completely naked it is.


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